


Team Bucky

by sleepissafety



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Romance, Super-Soldier appetites
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:43:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3610530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepissafety/pseuds/sleepissafety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bucky's finally ready for a new arm--courtesy of one Tony Stark--Steve assembles a ragtag team of Avengers Tower inhabitants who know Bucky and/or Tony the best to guarantee Bucky gets exactly what he wants--no more, no less.</p><p>"There <i>is</i> such a thing as too much," Steve says at their first meeting. "Remember what he did to the toaster?"</p><p>Bucky wonders if being able to shoot web-like wires out of his wrist "like some kind of bionic Spider-Buck"--Stark's words, not his--would be too much according to <i>The Steve Rogers Guide to Making Sure Tony Stark Doesn't Turn Your Best Friend into a Robot</i>.</p><p>Also, fuck that, the toaster was pretty damn cool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Press Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prologue: an intro to Bucky and Steve.
> 
> Tags will be added as needed. Character tags will be added as they appear.

“You sure about this, Buck?” Steve asks for what seems like the billionth time. They’re sitting on one of the sofas in their living room, facing each other, knees barely brushing. “Don’t want you doing anything you don’t wanna—”

“I’m sure!” he snaps, but Steve doesn’t flinch or frown or anything; he never does. Bucky takes a deep breath to recompose anyway, lifts his flesh hand to push back the hair falling in front of his eyes. “I mean, I want this. I do. I _want_ this, Stevie.”

“All right. Got it,” Steve breathes, slight smile, shoulders relaxed, and Bucky mentally pats himself on the back for remembering the effect a simple nickname could have on his best friend slash boyfriend. Steve tilts his head toward the main door of their apartment. “You wanna go tell Stark the good news, then? J.A.R.V.I.S. said he’s in his lab—”

“No.” Bucky cuts him off and this time one of Steve’s eyebrows arches, barely noticeable if Bucky hadn’t been looking for it. He’s certain Steve knows perfectly well why Bucky’s not to eager to step into _any_ lab, no matter who built it, any time soon. He thinks he should still try to explain. “It’s just—I don’t—Can you—Without me? Go…You know—”

“Course, babe.” Steve grins, wide and sincere, and Bucky can’t help but return the gesture when he can practically _touch_ the understanding emanating off of him. He _is_ able to touch it when Steve’s knee purposely knocks into his and Steve’s hands slide across the space to settle on his thighs.

“Thanks.” Bucky doesn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he feels the heaviness in his chest dissipate as Steve leans forward and presses gentle kisses to his forehead, nose, then lips. Bucky also doesn’t realize that at some point he’d closed his eyes, only notices the pressure change under his folded legs when Steve rises from the sofa. He opens them, gaze holding Steve as he smoothes the collar of his leather jacket. Bucky gave it to Steve two birthdays ago—his first gift to his best friend in over seventy years—and it makes him happy to see it getting worn out. “Love you, Stevie.”

“Love you, too, Buck.” Steve’s just about to close the front door behind him when he peeks back in so Bucky can see him from his place on the sofa. “And don’t worry. We’re gonna make sure that it’s _your_ arm and not just some piece of ostentatious Stark tech that happens to be attached _to_ you.”

“Okay,” Bucky agrees, though he’s not entirely sure why Steve would say that.

As the door falls shut, though, Bucky _is_ sure he hears Steve mutter something about the Captain America uniform, helmet lasers, and flying pigs.

“If it ain’t broke...” Bucky leans back to look at the ceiling, flexing his hands in his lap. The left clicks and whirs when he tries to ball it into a fist; the smallest finger’s been jammed straight out for three weeks and two more are beginning to show similar signs. “…don’t fix it.”

“Indubitably, sir,” is the response and Bucky wonders if the reason Stark is such an ass is because he transferred all of his manners into J.A.R.V.I.S.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who does Steve recruit?
> 
> Find out in **Chapter 2: Meet the Team**!
> 
> (And even though I wrote the line at three in the morning when I thought it was much funnier than it probably is, I'm also tempted to write something wherein Tony actually attaches lasers to Steve's helmet. With Bucky's help. Jerks.)
> 
>  **4/6/15 edit:** Chapter 2 is almost done, I swear. I'm just ~~playing too much Animal Crossing~~ trying to give each team member a proper introduction and slowly finding out who's the hardest to write. O_O Challenge accepted?


	2. Meet the Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At first, he doesn’t understand what’s going on.
> 
> Now he might be starting to worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kudos are much appreciated! Thank you! <3 <3
> 
> Also, long-ish chapter but I wanted to introduce everyone at least once.

At first, he doesn’t understand what’s going on.

He thinks it’s just coincidence that people around the tower keep telling him not to worry.

 _Worry about what?_ he wants to say but never does.

Now he might be starting to worry.

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

“Don’t worry, babe. Stark’s gonna do a great job!” Steve says out of the blue, all bright teeth and bright eyes when he pats Bucky’s shoulder as they’re exiting Avengers Tower to get lunch.

Bucky wonders if he should be concerned that Steve’s smile is a little less American apple pie and a little more Cheshire Cat. Maybe he’s just projecting; he _has_ felt a bit like the Mad Hatter since watching the strange movie with Sam a few days ago.

“A great job,” the other man repeats from his right side, intertwining their hands. Steve’s usually the one with Bucky on _his_ right, been that way since their reunion two years back, because Steve likes holding Bucky’s cybernetic hand, likes making sure Bucky knows he accepts it as much as the rest of him. Bucky likes it to. But two weeks ago he still asked Steve to switch hands since it’s difficult—and, frankly, _not pleasant_ —to maintain a steady grip on Steve’s hand when three of fingers no longer function properly.

“Uh-huh,” Bucky contributes absentmindedly because he’s already forgotten what Steve said.

“Stark will do a _great_ job,” Steve says as they enter the café. Bucky feels something strange but he can’t pinpoint what it is. _Ominous,_ his mind supplies though he forces it out of his thoughts.

“He’s very smart,” Bucky assures, thinking back to when Pepper gave him a tour of the communal areas of the tower, his and Steve’s new home. One of his favorite areas is still the Prototype Wing, where Stark displays his favorite creations of years past. “I think he’ll do a good—”

“He’d better,” Steve interjects and Bucky’s almost expecting him to plant his shield in the nearby espresso machine to punctuate the statement. Pre-Serum Steve might’ve tried it, but Super Soldier Steve’s less hotheaded—or, at least, physical enough to back it up—something Bucky’s always appreciated about the transformation. Also, he assumes, Steve strives more than anyone to maintain a positive public image of the Avengers.

 _Especially_ after they destroyed Manhattan.

“We _saved_ Manhattan!” Steve looks offended and Bucky can only laugh when he realizes he spoke that thought out loud. “If anyone…” he trails off and Bucky knows it’s because he can’t really blame anyone—anyone on Earth, that is. Steve frowns. “If Stark hadn’t built that eyesore…”

“You’ve sure been throwing his name around a lot lately. Holding a torch for him or something behind my back?” Bucky jokes while trying to fork the last grape tomato on his plate. “And I happen to like that ‘eyesore’ since we kinda live in it and all. Also, from what I’ve been told about that chump Loki, he certainly would’ve found another place to open the portal. Dumbest are always the most determined. _You_ should know that better than anyone, Stevie. Loki would’ve found another way.”

“I know.” Bucky’s sure Steve’s referring to the tower, sure Steve’s got more to say, so he doesn’t speak. “I just want to make sure he does it right.”

“He will.” Bucky puts down his fork to take Steve’s hand, which has been resting palm up on the table since Steve finished his sandwich.

“He’d better…”

“ _He will._ ”

“…‘less he wants one of those red and gold gauntlets shoved up his derrière.”

_Well, damn._

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

Bucky spends a few mornings a week in the tower’s gym—well, _one_ of the tower’s gyms. It’s got three but Bucky prefers the one closest to his and Steve’s apartment (still three floors away) since it also has the most equipment, something he thinks isn’t entirely a coincidence. They pretty much have it to themselves anyway. The only other frequent visitor is—

“Hey, Sarge, how’s it going?”

“Good.” It’s his usual response, regardless of how it’s _really_ going, but he knows Sam won’t press. From his position on one of the benches, he watches Sam enter the gym after he responds to the greeting—always announces himself before entering a room Bucky’s in, which Bucky deeply appreciates. He’s already finished with his workout, taking a breather before walking back to the apartment. “You?”

“Good, good,” Sam says as he tosses his bag onto the bench next to Bucky before sitting down. “Word on the street—in the tower?—is that you’re letting Stark give the arm an upgrade!” He smiles, unzipping his bag. “That’s great, man. Glad to see the progress.”

“Thanks.” It’s all Bucky can think of to say. He can sense Sam wants to say something else, so he sets down his phone—no, he’s not _sexting_ Steve, doesn’t even know what the hell that is, mind you—and waits patiently while Sam digs through his bag, pulls out a towel and a water bottle before looking back toward Bucky.

“You knew Stark’s dad, right? Howard?”

The question is unexpected. Bucky nods, though that isn’t really true. He doesn’t actually remember, but from what Steve’s told him, he’d only met the man a handful of times, all brief and all Captain America-related. Most of his current knowledge of the inventor came from what he’s read in the newspapers archived in Howard’s son’s library. He _does_ , however, recall something about a flying car that didn’t fly—probably because Steve was there, too. “He made Steve’s shield.”

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Sam laughs like he’s just made a joke. He stands, flips his towel over his shoulder. “Well, if this century’s Stark’s got even a tenth of that ingenuity—and I don’t doubt he does—you don’t have a damn thing to worry about in getting him to fix your arm.”

 _I’m_ not _worried_ , Bucky wants to say but doesn’t. _Should I be?_

“We’re all on your side,” Sam assures, eyes focused on the music player in his hands. “Especially Steve.”

Bucky doesn’t have a chance to consider a response before Sam launches into the topic of what movies they _just have to_ watch next.

He tunes Sam out somewhere between _Jurassic Park_ and _The Matrix_ , still thinking about Steve. He considers that this seemingly random exchange with Sam might have something to do with his best friend’s apparent reservations about his new arm—or Stark, or both—and wonders if he should ask.

He doesn’t even realize the other man’s finished talking until he hears the smacks of rubber on rubber and he looks over to see Sam, earbuds in, running on a nearby treadmill.

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

When Bucky steps out of his post-workout shower, Steve’s in the kitchen and nearly finished cooking breakfast.

“ _Stevie..._ ” It’s breathy, barely audible, because Steve’s standing at the stove _in his uniform_ and there’s hardly anything that turns Bucky on more than a domestic Cap. “Doll.”

“Hi, babe,” Steve greets with a smile and a salute with the spatula he’s using to flip pancakes. He’s more than responsive when Bucky steps forward to capture his lips in an assertive kiss, keening and gasping against his mouth.

“ _My Captain_ …” he whispers against Steve’s lips when they pull back for air. Bucky weaves his left hand through one of the uniform’s straps and uses his right to manually curl the thumb—the pinky’s irreparable and he predicts the index will stop moving entirely by the end of the week—around the fabric so he can reciprocate Steve’s hold on him, an arm wrapped around his waist.

“Wanna team up and finish these hotcakes, Sergeant?” Steve asks. Now they’ve each got a free hand, so Bucky grabs the handle of the skillet to hold it steady on the stovetop while Steve removes the finished pancake and pours the last of the batter in its place. They hold each other in silence as it cooks, Steve flips it, and it cooks some more. “Nothing better than a good partner, that’s for sure.”

“Always worked best together.” Bucky leans forward to rest his cheek on Steve’s shoulder. He hums along with his mechanical shoulder when his weight falls against it. “Still do.”

“Love you, Buck.”

“Love you, too, Stevie.”

“So…you think we got enough?” Steve gestures with the spatula to the nearby platter, piled with at least twenty large, fluffy pancakes. “Fury’s expecting us back before sunrise tomorrow with the intel, so I don’t think there’ll be time for lunch. Or dinner.” Steve pauses, grins. “Or snacks.”

“Sure,” Bucky replies, though it’s probably not. He’s already decided in his head that he’ll give Steve a few of his, stop by the communal kitchen before they leave and snag a couple of those protein bars Clint’s swears by. “Also heard Tash mention something yesterday about picking up doughnuts for the trip. A few dozen just for us.”

“Yeah? Tell me more.” Steve’s using his bedroom voice because if there’s anything that Bucky knows best about him it’s that the only thing that can arouse him more than Bucky is food—and, fuck, if Steve ain’t the luckiest guy in the world right now, Bucky supposes, having both within arm’s reach.

Bucky groans, wishing he had two functioning hands so he could pull Steve even closer.

“ _C’mon_ , babe,” Steve urges and the hand teasing the waistband of his pants makes Bucky fully aware—as much as he would like this to continue to the bed right now, doughnuts be damned—that takeoff’s in less than thirty and there’s at least twelve solid hours of recon ahead of them that’ll require complete focus.

Bucky rolls his eyes and relocates Steve’s hand to his shoulder. “Yeah, I think it’s because Widow’s tired of a certain Super-Soldier punk whining about his empty stomach _in the middle of a mission_.”

Steve winks knowingly, aware that Bucky has intentionally killed the mood. “I’m still growing?” he says with faux innocence, which earns him a playful slap on his ass.

“Hurry up and eat your damn pancakes. Wanna get a hand on those doughnuts before Clint eats all the jelly.”

In the chaos of them practically inhaling their breakfast, Steve calmly reaches across the table to take Bucky’s hand in his. It’s his left, of course, because Bucky can only grip a fork with his right but Steve doesn’t mind.

Even if Bucky can’t really hold him back, Steve doesn’t mind.

He never has.

Honestly, though, Bucky can’t wait for his new arm.

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

The mission goes well, so well, in fact, that Bucky and Steve are given a few days off while Stark and Dr. Banner analyze what they were able to collect.

(And if someone may have put the idea into Stark’s head to take a little longer than normal, Bucky certainly knows nothing about it.)

They decide to camp out in their living room, in Bucky’s oversized beanbag, the most comfortable place closest to the kitchen. Steve fills a cooler with ice and root beers while Bucky retrieves every blanket they own and piles them onto the blue corduroy lump in front of the television. They both agree they’re incredibly hungry but would rather not cook, so Steve puts in a Chinese food request with J.A.R.V.I.S. while Bucky sets up the movie queue to marathon _Harry Potter_.

Because of the amount they order, J.A.R.V.I.S. informs them that it will take forty to fifty minutes plus at least another fifteen to get it from the restaurant one block away to their apartment in the tower.

And because no one on this planet could be more Captain America than Steve Rogers, Steve volunteers to pick it up himself with the excuse that it will cut down on the time though he and Bucky both know he’s just doing it for the benefit of the delivery boy. Bucky grumbles, just wants to pull Steve into his cocoon of fleece and cuddles and let the food arrive when it does, but Steve promises to also pick up a coffee cake from Bucky’s favorite bakery—conveniently located across the street from the takeout place—so he reluctantly lets him leave. And because Bucky’s also a bit of an ass, he stubbornly presses play all the while knowing Steve won’t mind either way.

Dumbledore has just left Harry on his aunt’s doorstep when the bell on Bucky’s own front door chimes. He considers ignoring it, considers Steve the only person worth getting up for but knows he took his keys and could just let himself back in. He hears the bell sound again, followed by a series of rapid knocks. Sighing, Bucky hits the pause button and slowly unravels himself from the blankets.

“Barnes, I know you’re in there ‘cause I ran into your boyfriend on the way up!” It’s muffled by the door though Bucky knows it’s Clint. “Just wanna chat for a minute! And don’t think just because my ears were damaged in the mission yesterday means I still can’t just read your lips! You aren’t getting out—”

Bucky flings open the door.

“—of this! Oh, hey, Sarge.” Clint grins when he sees him. 

“Hello.” Bucky also raises his right hand in an awkward wave in case Clint missed the verbal greeting. After he steps aside so the other man can enter the apartment, Bucky can’t help but peer over the threshold and glance toward each end of the hallway before closing the door. _Paranoia_ , his mind supplies, though it’s drowned out by Steve’s repeated assurances of, _No…progress._

It really _is_ progress when considering the twice daily perimeter walks of the tower during the first six months they lived here and the _thrice_ daily perimeter walks of their floor in the six months after that.

“ _Harry Potter_ again?” Clint’s voice pulls Bucky back into the present. “Didn’t we just finish them on a movie night a few weeks back?”

“Steve missed the fourth one.” _And was asleep through most of the fifth_ , though that was actually a very pleasant memory for Bucky since he was able to bury his watering eyes and quivering lips into his boyfriend’s shoulder when Sirius fell into the Veil.

“So you’re watching _all_ of them?” Clint’s eyebrow is arched and it looks like he’s trying to hold back a smirk.

“Got a few days off. Nothing else to do.” Bucky reaches into the cooler with his left hand, able to bend the fingers still functioning enough to get a grip on two of the root beer bottles. He sets them on the coffee table, pushes one toward where Clint has parked himself on a sofa.

“Thank you,” Clint says and signs as well. He pulls out a knife to pop off the cap before taking a long swig that drains half the bottle. “And you do realize that’s almost twenty hours of film, right?”

“As I said, nothing else to do.” Bucky grabs the softest blanket from the pile spilling off his beanbag and wraps it around himself before curling up on the floor in front of the sofa across from Clint’s. He leaves his bottle on the table, unopened. He makes sure Clint is looking at him before he speaks. “So…you wanted to talk? Steve send you up?”

“Yes and no.” Clint frowns, shifts so he’s sitting on the edge of the cushion. “Okay, yes for the first question, and both for the second. When I ran into him in the hall, he asked me to come up here and keep you company if I wasn’t busy. But I was planning a one-on-one with you at some point.” He grins, raises his now-empty bottle. “And for the record, I totally wasn’t busy since I’m off-duty—Nat’s order—until Stark fixes my ears. Although it seems like that’s going to be sooner rather than later since someone apparently _bribed_ him into pushing back the intel analysis a few days.”

“Wasn’t a bribe,” Bucky says, picking at one of the broken panels on his forearm under the blanket. “ _Attempted_ bribe. Guess Steve scares him more than Fury nowadays.”

“Steve scares _everyone_ more than Fury nowadays…” is what Clint says under his breath—or tries to, because he tends to speak at a higher volume when he isn’t wearing his hearing aids and Bucky probably would have heard it _without_ enhanced hearing—though what he intentionally says aloud is, “I’m not sure Stark is even scared of Fury at all. His priorities are a little twisted when it comes to things like that.”

“Steve told me he tried to unleash the Hulk not an hour after meeting Dr. Banner. Poked him in the side with a little zapper thing. Also called him a ‘green rage monster’ _when_ they met.”

“Not surprising.” Clint laughs. “Hadn’t been around for it but apparently Cap and Stark nearly came to blows a few times during the honeymoon. They didn’t actually work together until they _had_ to.”

Bucky snorts. “The Commandos were a barrel of monkeys with a barrel of personalities and Steve got along with all of them just fine. Stark’s just an asshole.”

“I think he prefers genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist.”

“So…smart asshole, rich asshole, _asshole_ asshole, and generous asshole.” Bucky rolls his eyes with a grin. “Still an asshole.”

“Yeah, well that asshole’s replacing that piece of shit contraption stuck to your side with an arm that actually works,” Clint says, pointing to the spot where beneath the blanket Bucky’s nearly scraped off the loose panel. “Don’t think I don't see you messing with it under there. It’s really falling apart quick, isn’t it?”

“It always functioned properly on missions unless it was compromised,” Bucky explains, pulling back brown fleece so Clint can see. “Stark thinks it might be acting up because it was never used for long periods—a few weeks at most before months ( _or years_ , Bucky doesn’t say) back in cryo—and also had constant maintenance, lots of parts replaced through the years. I don’t think any of the fingers are more than a decade old.”

“Damn.”

Bucky recalls one of the few conversations he had with Stark sans Steve, remembers the pleading in his voice. “ _Honestly, I don’t really care what you do as long it’s primarily an_ arm _, not a weapon. Holding Steve’s hand or a toothbrush or even a coffee mug is so much more important than being able to operate a grenade launcher or toss a knife. These past two years have been the first time I’ve felt like a person in so long and I haven’t even gotten to fully enjoy them._ ” He’d begged, unashamedly, which he remembers rendered Stark speechless a minute or two—a record, probably. At least Bucky was able to get his point across.

Clint clears his throat, obviously knowing Bucky was lost in his own thoughts again. “Barnes, with what you’ve been through, I can’t think of anyone more deserving of something like this. Seriously, every one of us is rooting for you. Also, you and Steve together. I can tell you’re a little worried, but don’t be.”

Bucky sighs. _Of course._

“But I—” Bucky cuts him off with a rapid flail of his arms when he hears the distinct sound of keys jingling outside the front door.

 _Steve,_ he mouths and Clint nods in understanding.

“We’ll catch up later, all right?” Clint says as Steve’s stepping through the door with an armful of colorful bags. He leans back on the sofa, pulls his cell phone from the pouch strapped to his thigh. “Gonna take Nat out for sushi tonight. We still on for the range tomorrow at three, Barnes?”

“Yeah…” Bucky agrees, though he isn’t sure what Clint even said because he’s entranced by the crooked smile he sees over Clint’s head.

Steve immediately walks across the room—arms still loaded with crinkling plastic—so he can lean down and kiss Bucky’s cheek, then lips. He turns toward Clint, who’s not even trying to cover up the gagging gesture he’s making with his finger and mouth. “Hey, Clint.”

“Cap.” Clint gives a mock salute and stands. “Well, I really do have to go now if Nat and I are going to make our reservation. Later, lovebirds.”

“Bye, Clint,” Steve says, though it’s while he’s turning his head toward the television screen, now darkened in sleep mode. “Aw, Buck, you didn’t have to stop the movie for me.” 

“Did it for Clint, not you. You were mean and left me by myself.” Bucky feigns a pout and scoots away when Steve tries to go in for another kiss.

“I’ve got beef lo mein. And coffee cake.” Steve pauses to drop all of the bags on the empty sofa cushion above the spot on the floor Bucky just abandoned. His expression is that of a scolded puppy trying to get back into the good graces of its owner. “And some subs for later. Extra pickles—I remembered this time.”

“Okay, I forgive you.” And Bucky honestly thinks Steve’s smile could be sweeter than sugar. He lets their lips touch. _Definitely tastes like it._

“You guys are so weird,” Clint calls back from the hallway, having walked backward to the door so he could continue to read their lips. Bucky assumes Clint did this so he’d have something to laugh about with Natasha over dinner since she always seems to be asking about Bucky and Steve’s relationship. “Do you even _have_ arguments? Like full-on yelling matches? Maybe something more Super-Soldier-ish? Throwing furniture? Bending frying pans? Anything that could potentially end in some awesomely rough makeup sex? Anything? Ever?”

Now Steve’s smile is more like the cheetah that just spotted his prey as he takes slow, calculated steps toward Clint. He stops when he’s close enough to get a hand on the door. “Huh, Buck,” he says, even though Bucky can’t see his face—and Bucky’s pretty sure he’s still staring down Clint anyway—tightening his grip on the wood until his knuckles go white. “Guess that soundproofing in our bedroom really does work, huh?”

Bucky only gets a glimpse of Clint’s jaw on the floor before Steve slams the door in his face.

“It just slipped.” And Steve’s once again all syrupy sweet when he looks back toward his boyfriend.

“I bet,” Bucky comments sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he begins to poke around the food bags Steve left next to him. “And yet these people still think _I’m_ the kinkier half.”

“Well, you’re definitely the top half.” Steve winks, licks his lips. “Mostly.”

Mid-chew, Bucky looks at his right hand, now dripping with orange chicken sauce.

Truly, he’s never been more thankful of his three semi-functional fingers and an elbow that hasn’t yet come unhinged because it’s more than enough to lob a pillow squarely at Steve’s smug face.

_Hit._

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

Bucky’s sweaty, exhausted, ready to fall into bed—right after a shower, definitely—when he steps off the elevator on his and Steve’s floor.

 _Went to the store for a few things—gonna make Ma’s beef stew!_ reads a hastily scrawled note taped to the outside of the front door. It makes Bucky’s shoulders sag a little more; he’d been hoping for post-workout cuddles, maybe even a little fun in the shower.

Trying archery was his therapist’s idea. A few months into their time together, he’d confessed that he was having trouble figuring out how to use both of his arms equally when his conscious life wasn’t so…destructive. The week before, she’d asked how he felt about Steve’s teammates and how he was getting along with them, and he’d made some off-handed comment about how much he enjoyed watching Hawkeye train, how he was entranced by the way the skilled archer could effortlessly switch taking shots with either hand.

He’d actually been taken-aback at how much she urged him to call Clint right after their session and even ended it early—after making sure he was absolutely okay with it, of course—so he could talk to him even sooner. It was right outside her office where Bucky had his first one-on-one conversation with Clint and it surprised him for the second time that day when Clint didn’t even hesitate before eagerly agreeing to give him private lessons.

“ _Ain’t a better teacher than the Hawk, Sarge!_ ”

Still, he remembers vividly how many of Steve’s coffee mugs he’d shattered from what Steve thought at first was Bucky getting overwhelmed by a triggered memory or left behind fragment of a mind wipe when it was really him not realizing that he didn’t need to reach for most objects with the same force he would use on a blade he needed to throw or a door he needed to tear.

As he said, _destructive_.

Still, he appreciated the fact that Clint had apparently gone out of his way to track down some pictures of Arnim Zola to tack onto the target—though that might have been a bit of an unfair motivation.

He smiles when he thinks about it, even now.

“Sir? Sergeant Barnes?”

“Yeah, J?” Bucky shakes his head to clear his thoughts, running a comb through his still-dripping hair. He doesn’t know how long J.A.R.V.I.S. has been trying to get his attention, doesn’t want to ask.

“Mr. Stark has asked me to deliver his preliminaries sketches of your arm, sir.” At that, a series of holographic documents surrounds him. He doesn’t even bother looking closely at any of them, keeping his eyes on the ceiling, though he assumes there are at least twenty.

“Any of them good?”

“I was instructed not to look before you, sir.”

“If you don’t tell Stark, I won’t.” Bucky grins, gives the ceiling two thumbs up, which he would have done regardless of his left thumb now being stuck in that position. What was left of the lubricant he’d used to loosen the mechanical joints enough to hold an arrow washed away in the shower, though the movement was nice while it lasted.

“I appreciate your style, Sergeant Barnes.” A single wave of static sweeps across the holograms as they are scanned, then reloaded. The A.I. hums.

“What is it?”

“I think one of these is supposed to be a joke, sir.” All of the holograms drift backward except for one, which moves into his central vision and enlarges. “Mr. Stark has labeled this one Get Lucky.”

“Is that—”

“The Bluetooth logo on the shoulder? Yes, sir.”

“Ass…” Bucky mutters, then remembers who he’s speaking to. “Oh, sorry. Not you, J.”

“I assumed, sir.” The A.I. sounds amused. “You really would not be surprised how many times Mr. Stark is called that in my presence each day.”

“Bet I could tell you who says it the most!”

“Now that one might surprise you, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky grins, files that tidbit away for another conversation on another day. “So…”

“I have been instructed by Miss Potts to discard all plans that do not meet your expectations, sir.”

“Goodbye, Bluetooth!” He waves at the hologram as it shrinks, then disappears into the digital bin that’s appeared near his feet. He watches the remaining sketches float back to their original positions. “And on that note, also get rid of anything that makes me a Wi-Fi hub or mobile hotspot, please and thank you.”

“Yes, sir.” J.A.R.V.I.S. says as six more vanish are trashed. “What is your opinion on an iPhone charger in your—”

“No.” Bucky cuts him off, doesn’t care _where_ Stark has placed it unless it’s up the idiot inventor’s own ass. “I don’t even _have_ an iPhone.”

“Noted, sir.” Two more fall into the bin.

“Hey, J?” Bucky gestures to the remaining holograms. “You realize half of these are already gone, right?” He sighs. “I’m getting the impression that _all_ of these are jokes.”

“Sir?” J.A.R.V.I.S. scans them again. Seven of them do not reappear. “How about this—Wait, no, never mind, it has programmed fighting sound effects.”

“Oh, God.”

It vanishes.

“A thermometer built into your index finger does not sound so bad.”

“ _Yes,_ actually, it does.” Trash. There are only four left.

“A Swiss Army knife?”

“Not a chance.” Trash. Three to go.

“A screwdriver?”

“That would be more helpful in my pocket so I could actually use it _on_ the arm.” Trash. And then there were two.

“I…I am honestly not sure what one would do exactly with a finger-sized chainsaw.”

“ _Hell_ , no.” Trash. Last one. _Is it too much to ask for just one be at least a little okay?_

“How about this one, sir?” The sole remaining hologram fills the space in front of him.

“Okay, so no on the lasers.” Bucky grins. “But I like the wing.”

“It is familiar to you, yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“Very.” Even though he hasn’t worn the jacket in decades, only seen the reproduction at the Smithsonian, he’d know that symbol anywhere. “Stark’s got some pretty shitty ideas of his own, but you can definitely tell him I appreciate that he knows when to use someone else’s.”

“Of course, sir.” Everything but the wing joins the rest of the sketches in the trash bin, which then disappears itself. Bucky watches J.A.R.V.I.S. open a digital dossier and place the wing inside. “I must report to Mr. Stark now. Good day, sir.”

“Later, J.”

He’s still giddy when Steve gets back thirty minutes later.

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

The next evening, during dinner with all currently present Avengers in the main living area, Natasha gives him _the look_.

He tries not to think about it. Clint made lasagna, one of Bucky’s favorites, so it’s not hard.

After the meal, he reluctantly pulls himself from Steve’s side, makes up an excuse about needing fresh air and insists, no, really, Steve _should_ finish telling Sam about that one Howling Commandos mission where they almost captured because Dernier accidentally singed off Monty’s mustache—Bucky remembers it, so it’s really okay—so he can step out onto the balcony. He knows Natasha will be close behind. 

She is.

She’s next. Bucky knows she’s next before she even begins to speak.

“If this is about—”

“Your arm? Stark? Steve? All of the above, of course.” Natasha rolls her eyes, though Bucky doesn’t mind; he’s always appreciated her straightforwardness. She’d been abroad on a classified assignment for the past month and while they’d had a mission together just a few days ago, they were paired off as Bucky with Steve and Natasha with Clint for most of it, and there was definitely no time for small talk on the plane. He won’t admit it out loud…but he missed her.

“Seems to be a recurring thing lately. Lot more roundabout, though.” _Clint was definitely the worst…or would that be the best if we’re talking_ most _roundabout because then—_

“I don’t know how much you know of what’s going on, but we’ve all got your back, especially Steve.” 

Bucky grunts. _Damn, there’s that “especially Steve” again._ He recalls Sam and their chat in the gym. 

Natasha sighs, grabs his metal shoulder and squeezes even though she knows he can’t feel it. “You’re part of the team now. Don’t worry, all right?”

“I wish people would stop saying that.” Bucky frowns. “Or at least tell me _why_ I should—or shouldn’t—be worried in the first place.”

“ _Really_ , it’s mostly just some overreacting on Steve’s part. Probably.”

“What is?”

“He means well, but you have to understand that their friendship, if you could call it that— sometimes it’s more like a strained tolerance for the other—hasn’t exactly developed through the smoothest course—”

“Tash.” _This feels like déjà vu. Is this what she and Clint talked about over their dinner last night?_

“You know how much Steve just _worships_ you and would never let anyone—”

“ _Natasha._ ”

“And he just—”

“Natasha Romanoff!”

She sucks in a breath in surprise, though Bucky doesn’t think it’s due to his outburst. She winks. “Sorry, James. I’m still a bit off from the jetlag.” She shakes her head and blinks a few times. “What I’ve been _trying_ to say is that Steve’s just a little…oh, let’s face it, _jealous_ that someone—and Stark at that, oh, God—can help you in a way he can’t.”

“But it’s not—”

“Most of what you’ve done so far has dealt with helping your mind, like your therapy or Sam’s VA meetings. And even all the time you spend in the gym is more mental than physical, you know. And Steve’s been with you every step of the way.” She pauses, like she’s trying to think of the right thing to say. “Your arm is, well…an arm. It’s a machine and Steve…Steve…He doesn’t know the _first thing_ about fixing your arm. How do you think that makes him feel?”

Bucky snorts. “I _think_ Steve’s a lot dumber than he looks.” He gestures toward the glass door separating the balcony and living room, through which he can see Steve’s arms swinging wildly for what he can only imagine is the climax of the story (though he isn’t entirely sure if the climax is the actual singe of the mustache or Monty’s reaction _after_ it happened). “And he looks pretty dumb to begin with.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“Did you know he’s surprising me with a kitten for my birthday in a few weeks?” He arches his eyebrow when Natasha’s eyes narrow.

“I d—Wait, how do you know about that?”

“Punk’s never changed some of his old habits. Always used to store important information, things he needed to remember and such, in his current sketchbook ‘cause he uses it so much.” When she opens her mouth to speak, to accuse him of nosiness no doubt, he shakes his head to signal he isn’t finished yet. “Wasn’t snooping, just clearing off the coffee table so I could build a puzzle—therapist’s suggestion—and it just slipped out when I moved his supplies.”

“What slipped out?”

“A piece of paper titled _Bucky’s Birthday Plans_.”

“Oh, Steve…”

“Apparently one of the recently discharged vets Sam’s been mentoring has a cat with a litter that’ll be weaned the week before my birthday. There’re five, all girls, and I get first pick. Stevie’s gonna take me over there after dinner since her apartment’s only a few blocks from the tower.”

“All of this was written on Steve’s note?”

“And more. I stopped after the first part because I didn’t want to ruin _all_ of his surprises.” He grins. “Also, I was really excited about the kitten.”

“Bet you are. He told me you’ve been not-so-subtle about it since you guys watched _The Aristocats_ a few months back.”

“My point _is_ …Steve does a lot for me, more than anyone else has ever done or ever could. He shouldn’t fret about stupid shit like Stark replacing my arm. It’s _nothing_ compared to what Steve’s done, still does.” He releases a slow breath. “Wish someone would tell him that.”

Natasha reaches up to flick the side of his head. “Well…have you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ridiculously lengthy notes for which I make no apologies:  
>  **Sam** Bucky watched the 2010 _Alice in Wonderland_ because someone in that tower is a Burton fan, **_I know it_**. But I'm going to go with Bucky's favorite being _Edward Scissorhands_.  
>  **Clint** Bucky and Tony's conversation went something like:  
>  Bucky: I'll let you put Bluetooth in my arm if you can draw out this decryption thing til next weekend  
> Tony: Thanks for the offer but I'm pretty sure Cap would castrate me for that...I'll still give you the days though ;)  
> Bucky: Has anyone ever given you a medal for your dedicated service to this country?  
> Tony: Use protection!  
>  **Clint** Originally Bruce, not Clint, but the Hawk doesn't get nearly enough of the attention/respect he deserves (which anyone in the Marvel fandom on Tumblr has probably discovered as AOU stuff is released). I think Clint is a much better fit on Team Bucky anyway and the replacement gave me room to write ~~Paul Bettany~~ J.A.R.V.I.S.  
>  **Clint** Deaf MCU Clint 2k15. Headcanon that his hearing aids are damaged on nearly every mission so Stark ends up just giving him a box of them every Christmas. However, he usually only wears them for missions as they are a special Stark design with a built in radio to assist him in long range communication since he's usually high up on roofs or aircraft while regular teammates Natasha, Steve and Bucky are on the ground (though I also see Bucky joining him occasionally depending on the mission because he _is_ a skilled WWII sniper).  
>  **Clint** "It just slipped." Damn it! If this character development continues, I don't know if I'll be able to handle Cap's snark by the time _Infinity Wars_ comes around... -_-''  
>  **J.A.R.V.I.S.** Bucky calls him J because he staunchly opposes Bucky's other option, Jeeves. J is not amused.  
>  **Natasha** Kittens make everything better. This is a proven scientific fact.  
> 
> 
> Next up is **Chapter 3: The Encouragers**  
> 
> 
> So I totally lied. I didn't introduce _every_ member this chapter. One more ~~sorry~~ lucky sap will be joining Bucky, Steve, Sam, Clint, J.A.R.V.I.S. and Natasha on their quest. Chapter 3 is actually going to be organized a lot like this one, where Bucky interacts with people individually or in pairs. You'll also meet the final member of Team Bucky! Also, Tony will make a physical appearance and have face-to-face communication with Bucky though I'm still trying to decide if I'll include anyone else, like Bruce or Thor or anyone from S.H.I.E.L.D. Maria Hill might appear since she works for Stark now.


End file.
